


End of the Line

by indiefic



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Peggy Carter is the Winter Soldier, Peggy's evil(ish), Skinny Steve Rogers, Steggy - Freeform, Steve's an Artist, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-06-09 09:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15264621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: This will be a series of vignettes rather than a linear story.Peggy Carter is the Winter Soldier.  Steve Rogers received the serum, but didn't end up with the effects we saw in the movie.  He's still skinny Steve.The vignettes will skip around to different points in time, showing how Peggy and Steve's relationship changes over time.The rating and warnings are subject to change as additional vignettes are uploaded.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was [previously posted on tumblr](https://indiefic.tumblr.com/post/172492615620/beautifulwhensarcastic-caleysteggy-a) in response to a prompt from caleysteggy.

**Modern Day**

 

Barton looked at the guy in the interrogation room again.  He turned to Natasha and Fury. “You know this isn’t going to work, right?”

Fury frowned, seeming to agree.  He didn’t like this idea any more than Barton did.  But they were out of leads.

Natasha kept her eyes on the guy in the cell.  “She’ll show,” she said with conviction.

Barton shook his head.  SHIELD had been tracking the Winter Soldier for longer than Barton could remember.  Longer than he’d been alive. She always managed to be five steps ahead of them. These days, she went by the name Maggie Harrison.  They didn’t know who she really was, or where she came from. She was enhanced, for sure. She’d worked for the Soviets for years. She went free agent after the collapse.  Most KGB secrets were available for the right price these days, but even with SHIELD’s resources, the Winter Soldier remained a black box. Barton doubted that even her Hydra handlers buried in the KGB truly knew her whole history.

SHIELD had a folder a foot thick that they’d love to pin on the Winter Soldier.  But so far they couldn’t make anything stick to dear ol’ Maggie. She had too many resources - finances on par with Stark, and political alliances that far outstripped his.  She was brilliant. And dangerous. And there didn’t seem to be a single thing they could do about it.

But now, on Natasha’s hunch, they’d pulled this guy in - this  _ nobody _ .  Steve Rogers.  An artist living in Brooklyn.  Barton would bet Rogers weighed a buck wet, and he was barely taller than Natasha.  He looked like the excitement of bringing him in for questioning might be enough to give him a fatal heart attack.

They did a cheek swab on Rogers when they brought him in.  He didn’t seem shocked about that. He didn’t even seem shocked they were bringing him in - that part Barton  _ did _ find interesting.  

But the swab showed that Rogers wasn’t related to the Winter Soldier.  So Barton couldn’t figure out what value an asthmatic artist might hold for Maggie Harrison.  As far as SHIELD could tell, the Winter Soldier only cultivated relationships that benefited her.  And what possible benefit could there be in a relationship with Rogers?

As Barton watched, Rogers adjusted his glasses and rubbed his wrist.  

“You could at least get me a coffee if you’re not going to ask me any questions,” Rogers snapped to the ostensibly empty room.  “And not that crap from the vending machine.”

Barton chuckled in spite of himself.  The little guy had some pluck.

 

* * *

 

Fury ended the call and turned to look at Natasha.  “She’s on her way in. We have orders not to engage.  Observation only.”

Natasha smiled, and refrained from saying,  _ I told you so. _

Barton turned and looked at Rogers again, now drinking his coffee.  Shaking his head, Barton looked at Natasha again. “How’d you know?”

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest.  “Steve Rogers was born in 1918.”

Barton’s head snapped back and he stared at Rogers.  The guy looked awful. But he didn’t look a hundred years old.  “What?”

Natasha shrugged.  “He worked for the SSR after the war.  He was one of ours.”

 

* * *

 

Barton, Natasha, and Fury were all lined up, watching through the glass as the Winter Soldier entered the interrogation room where Rogers was waiting.  The son of a bitch didn’t even look up. He just kept drinking his coffee. Barton was forced to completely re-evaluate everything he thought he knew about the asthmatic artist.

Maggie, on the other hand, looked like Barton had never seen her.  She looked worried. In all the years he’d tracked her, in countless surveillance tapes and depositions, he had never once seen her look anything other than perfectly composed.  But standing there, looking at Rogers drinking his coffee, she looked worried.

As Barton watched, Maggie dragged her hand through her hair, scraping it back from her face.  “Hello, Steve.”

Rogers finally looked up at her.  He waited a beat before he nodded.

Without waiting for him to offer, Maggie took a seat next to Rogers.  She was turned toward him. He didn’t move, his hands still resting on top of the table.  They sat there in a near painful silence for several minutes. It was obvious that they both knew they were being watched.

Finally, Maggie reached out and took one of Rogers’ hands in her own.  “I’m sorry they dragged you into this.”

Rogers used his free hand to take another drink of coffee.  Without looking at her, he said, “They didn’t drag me into this.”

Barton actually choked.  Natasha elbowed him in the ribs.

On the other side of the two-way glass, the Winter Soldier looked stricken, her normally implacable features twisted into a frown.  Barton could nearly feel the frustration rolling off her in waves. It was obvious that she hated not having the upper hand. And for whatever reason, she definitely did not have the upper hand in this relationship.

When she spoke, her voice was so taut, it sounded ready to snap.  “You asked me to stay away, so I did.”

Rogers finally turned and looked at her.  Whatever anger or disappointment Barton had expected to see on his face, it wasn’t there.  The guy just looked tired. “All I ever wanted was a quiet life with you.”

Maggie didn’t say anything, and Barton expected it was because she couldn’t.  She blinked quickly, her eyes shiny.

Sighing, Rogers finally stood up, disentangling his hand from Maggie’s.  He walked over to the glass and knocked on it. “Listen, fellas,” he said, “I’m not going to tell you anything because I don’t know anything.  I’d really just like to go home now. Thanks.”

 

END SECTION


	2. A Very Specific Skillset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s trying to carve out a role for himself at the SSR, but nothing is ever easy.

**1946**

  
“Where do you think you’re going?”  Jack reaches out and grabs Steve’s shoulder, dragging him to a halt, almost causing him to drop the supplies he’s carrying.  

Tight lipped, Steve looks up at Jack.  “She’s injured. Last time I checked, we weren’t in the business of torture.”

Jack shrugs.  Steve knows full well how often Jack goes to town on suspects.  “We ain’t running a charity, Rogers. She’s a prisoner. Don’t let the fact that she’s a dame fool you.  She took out two of our guys, and put four more in the hospital. She deserved every bit of what she got and more.”

“I know what she is,” Steve says wearily, tugging his shoulder out of Jack’s grip.

Jack mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t try to intervene again.  Which is good. Jack doesn’t technically outrank Steve, a never ending source of frustration to Jack.  And Jack resents the hell out of the fact that Steve had a much higher security clearance during the war.  Jack wants to know about the Winter Soldier, and her past. Steve has no intention of enlightening him.

Steve manages to open the door to the interrogation room without dropping any of the medical supplies.  He doesn’t bother shutting the door. He figures that Jack will be hurrying into the observation room to watch.

Steve looks at what remains of Peggy Carter, locked somewhere inside the Winter Soldier.  She meets his gaze. It’s not the flat, cold stare he’s seen her give his coworkers, often before she deals out large amounts of physical brutality.  To Steve, she looks sad, and tired, and lost - more a broken doll than a master assassin. But he knows better than to fall into that trap. He knows how dangerous she can be.

Sighing, he crosses the room and sets the medical supplies down.  She follows him with her eyes. She looks terrible. They beat the hell out of her bringing her in.  Even with her enhanced healing, she looks bad. There’s blood crusted all over the lower half of her face, both her eyes are black, and her nose is badly broken and needs to be reset before it heals that way.  He suspects the bruises beneath her clothes are far worse. With women, they go for the face last.

Steve and Peggy are both old hands at this.  He’s lost track of how many times they’ve danced this dance.  Though she usually isn’t manacled to the chair during the process.

Steve takes the large gauze pads and saturates them with antiseptic solution, and then carefully presses them against the caked blood as gently as he can.  She looks away as her eyes well with tears. Maybe the stuff stings. 

It takes a long time, but they both know the drill.  Finally, he has most of the gore out of the way. The wounds themselves don’t look too horrific.  Not anymore. He suspects they were pretty spectacular last night. But she heals at a phenomenal rate.  Setting her nose is difficult. She needs surgery, but that’s not going to happen, so he does the best he can.  He has her face cupped in his hands and he can feel her shaking. Maybe it’s from the pain. 

He takes the needle and thread and begins the delicate task of stitching up the gash along the left side of her jaw.  The skin and underlying tissue is torn, not cut. Probably from a ring. Krzeminski wore a heavy class ring, and packed a hell of a right hook.  He’s dead now, so Steve figures Peggy got her own back.

“Can she talk?”

Steve didn’t realize Jack had stepped in the room, and he glances at him.  He shrugs. “As far as I know, yeah. Why?”

“We had some Russians with laryngectomies,” Jack replies.  “I wondered if she was one of them.”

Steve shakes his head, concentrating on the delicate stitches.  “She’s far too valuable to be muzzled like that,” he says quietly.

He can hear Jack’s frustrated noise.  “Who is she?”

Steve shakes his head.  “No one. Anyone.”

“Cut the bullshit, Rogers.  Tell me what’s going on.”

Steve finishes up the sutures and carefully cleans her up as best he can.  Finally he stands and turns to face Jack. He shrugs. “I wish I could Agent Thompson,” he lies.  “But you don’t have the clearance.”

 

* * *

 

Across the table at the automat, Bucky is staring at him, grim faced, shaking his head.  “What the fuck are you thinking, Steve? You went in there alone? With medical supplies?  You know damn well she could have killed you.”

Steve takes a drink of his coffee and shrugs.  “She didn’t.”

“Pure dumb luck,” Bucky snaps, frowning.

Steve looks down into his coffee.  “It’s not luck, and you know it.” He looks at Buck, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“So we’re back to this?” Bucky demands.  He’s clearly frustrated. He starts to yell and stops himself.  He leans forward, across the table, whispering harshly. “She’s not the woman you remember, Steve.  Not anymore. You can’t trust her.”

Steve shrugs, sitting back in his seat.

Bucky’s lips pucker into a frown and he shakes his head, looking away.  He motions over one of the waitresses for more coffee.

It’s an old, tired argument.  Bucky doesn’t know all the details of Project Rebirth, and he doesn’t trust any of it, especially not Peggy Carter.  Steve understands that Bucky is a loyal friend, and he’s just trying to look out for him. But Steve’s really over having people look out for him.  And especially where Peggy is concerned, Steve neither wants nor needs counsel.

“I heard you refused to give Thompson the rundown on the situation,” Bucky says, once the waitress has gone.

“He doesn’t have clearance,” Steve replies.

Bucky looks at him.  “Convenient.”

Steve shrugs.  “I didn’t make the rules.”

Bucky nods.  “And you’ve always been one to follow the rules.”

Steve takes a deep breath.  “I’m not going to help them hang her.”

“From the sound of it, she doesn’t need any help.  She’s managed that all by herself,” Bucky replies. He catches himself and winces.  He tries again, his tone placating. “Look, she was a good friend. I know you two - “

Steve scoots out of the booth and tosses a few coins down on the counter to cover the coffee and tip, heading for the door.  He can hear Bucky curse, but he doesn’t stop. Steve isn’t going to argue with Buck about this. Not again. Not anymore. Buck seems to think Steve has some kind of schoolyard crush on a murderous automaton.  Steve is done trying to make him understand.

* * *

 

Jack slams Steve so hard against the wall that he sees stars.  “Where is she?” Jack bellows in Steve’s face.

Coughing, Steve shakes his head.  “What?” He looks around the office, and quickly understands.  He bites back a smile. “You lost her.”

“Get the fuck out of here, Rogers,” Jack snaps, sending Steve spinning away with a shove.

 

* * *

 

The week is god awful.  The top brass were in town, ripping Dooley up one side and down the other for letting the Winter Soldier slip through his fingers.  Dooley hadn’t understood, Until it was too late, that their mysterious female assassin was so very important.

Steve sort of feels sorry for the guy.  Except that Dooley is the one who put Thompson in charge of the case.  There was no way Jack Thompson was ever going to outmaneuver Peggy. He can’t hope to keep up with her.

When the brass left, Dooley called Steve into his office and gave him an earful.  Steve explained,  _ again _ , that he wasn’t, and isn’t, at liberty to reveal war secrets for the sake of Jack Thompson’s investigation.

Dooley wasted no time bringing up the dead agents.  Steve feels lousy about that. But he calmly told Dooley that Jack Thompson was the one who made that call.  Thompson made assumptions based on the suspect’s gender. He decided that precautions didn’t need to be taken.  It cost two agents their lives. Dooley had been pretty disgusted when he finally kicked Steve out of his office, but there isn’t much Steve can do about it.  Steve doubts that Dooley has the balls to fire him. Dooley is already on eggshells with Phillips.

Steve could have told Thompson more.  It’s Need To Know, but the argument could be made that Thompson needed to know.  But what’s done is done. Steve didn’t talk. And if he has the chance again, he’ll still keep his mouth shut.  He ain’t no rat. Thompson and Dooley can’t be trusted with the information Steve has. And he doubts it would help them anyway.  Understanding the fact of how the Winter Soldier came to be wouldn’t help them understand anything about her.

 

* * *

 

Steve Rogers certainly does not have what anyone would ever consider to be enhanced senses.  Erskine’s serum managed to cure a lot of his worst health afflictions. But he’s far from a perfect physical specimen.  His asthma still flares up in the winter, and the serum certainly didn’t make him any bigger. But he can at least see and hear now.  

None of that seems to help him when he’s grabbed in the alley and sent spinning into the wall.  He stumbles, catches himself and raises his arm to ward off another blow. It never falls.

He squints in the dim light, watching her.

She’s more than capable of killing him.  He knows that to the core of his being. 

He flinches as she starts toward him.  She stops, canting her head to the side.  Watching him.

He opens his mouth, but finds he has nothing to say.  Reasoning with her is pointless.

She assesses him, her eyes narrowing, and then, more slowly, starts toward him again.  Deliberately, she presses her hand against his chest, pushing him flush with the wall. She steps closer.  At this range, he has to tilt his head back to meet her eyes.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asks, hating how hoarse his voice sounds.

Her eyebrows draw together ever so slightly, but otherwise, she doesn’t react.

Steve is hyper aware of her hand pressing against his chest.  He can feel the heat of it, and the pressure, just short of painful.  She’s so close, he can smell her. She’s been somewhere industrial. There’s a faint scent of turpentine and acrid smoke clinging to her clothes and hair.  She smells like death.

Unwanted memories rush at him.  She was pregnant. At her last physical.  He doesn’t know what happened. Maybe her new handlers made it disappear.  Maybe she gave it up. Maybe it was his.

“Steve.”

Her voice shocks him.  He expects it to sound ... He doesn’t even know.  But he doesn’t expect her to sound like Peggy Carter.  But she does. Of course she does. She has to blend in, to pass, to entice men forget what she is.

“Steve,” she says again, softer.

He swallows thickly.  She could end him without breaking a sweat.

She presses her lips against his, and his heart stops.  The moment seems to draw out forever. He forgets to breathe and his chest starts to burn.  

He feels her smile against his lips, and he takes a gasping breath.  Her free hand cups his jaw. “ _ Steve, _ ” she says again.  He doesn’t hear it.  He feels it. In the way her lips brush against his own.

When she kisses him again, he leans into it.   She’s either going to kill him, or she’s not. It’s not up to him.  If he has to go, this is probably a better option than most.

She tastes a hell of a lot better than she smells.

 

* * *

 

“Jesus Christ, Steve.”

Steve quickly buttons up his shirt, and tugs on his jacket before turning around.  Bucky’s standing there in his undershirt, leaning against the lockers, shaking his head.

“You said I should move on,” Steve blusters.

Buck isn’t fooled.  “Not with a goddamn assassin who the entire division is trying to bring down.”

“You don’t know - “

“I fucking know,” Bucky replies flatly, frowning.  He glances around the locker room to make sure no one is listening.  “She’s going to be the death of you.”

Steve watches him for a long time and then shrugs.  “Maybe.”

 

END STORY


End file.
